


Mistress Mine

by Lina_sindinaver



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Dominant, Domination, Domme, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female owner, Female owner/male slave, Light BDSM, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Mistress, Mistress/slave, Service Submission, Sexual Content, Slave Trade, Slavery, Submission, Submissive Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_sindinaver/pseuds/Lina_sindinaver
Summary: When Suzanan Cruz gets a male slave as a homecoming gift, she's furious. But time shows that her parents' gift was just the right thing for her.Updated every Thursday/Friday





	1. Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find on twitter @sindinaver

   He'd been staring, he knew. Since the moment she lifted the vail, he'd been staring. Trying to absorb every curve, every line, every flutter. Every detail of the woman who'd henceforth own him.

   He had been so engaged with watching his new mistress that the sudden darkness that overtook him was a surprise he wasn't expecting. One second he saw, the next, the sight was gone.

   She had wrapped a blindfold around his head, so quick he hadn't had the time to grasp what she was doing

   He panicked, his head moving back and forth, seeking some sort of guidance, until her hands grasped his shoulder, appeasing him. 

   Sooner than he had expected, her hand was on his,  guiding him to her dress, then back, until her fingers were on the collar of her dress. The order was clear. Unsaid, but clear. 

   He unzipped it, slowly, trying to visualize what it had looked like, but before could, her arm wrapped around his forearm, her voice came in a whisper, but commanding all the same "Don't."

   How she had known, or whether she had known at all, he couldn't tell, but he obeyed nonetheless. Doing as she commanded, he discarded the image his mind had tried to sketch of her. It was nothing like the reality, anyway. 

   The zipper was easy enough to deal with, then the straps followed, he slowly had them off, then the dress had slipped, pooling around her on the carpeted floors, he imagined. 

   His eyes were hesitant after that. Were he allowed to touch of his own accord, he didn't know. She saved him the trouble of contemplating by again guiding his hand to her waist, up and up, he unclasped the bra she wore, his head slowly falling to her neck, he kissed her throat, and she purred. Taking it as a sign of approval, he kissed her again, small, silent kisses, that grew bolder as he weren't reprimanded. 

   Her hand fisted in his hair, she guided his head lower, lower, and it came in contact with the swell of her breast, she shuddered as his lips went lower and lower still, getting more reaction of hers than he had imagined he would. It was bone wrecking. 

   Her death grasp on his hair loosened, then she let go as the pit on his lower stomach grew. His hand extended, unseeing, as he went to slip down what was covering her most intimate of areas, but he was swatted away swiftly. 

  The unspoken command was clear, no touching. He could use his mouth and tongue as he wished, but he couldn't touch. So it wasn't only the sight that she had deigned to take away, but also this. 

   He withdrew his hands, taking the extra step of crossing them behind him. If she so desired, he'd make due,  and he did. With teeth and tongue, he had it accomplished, albeit with some difficulty. 

   Once he had those out of the way, the rest was only a matter of getting closer, closer to the one thing that would bring an appropriate closure. 

   A few tentative licks told him she was soaking. He revelled on that fact, and dove deeper, deeper still. 

   She shuddered, then a sound close to a huff came, then, at last, she relaxed. Not bothering with guiding him any longer, he knew this territory well enough that he didn't need any encouragement.


	2. 1

The welcome back festive her family threw her was a surprise, and so was the slave boy that sat in the corner. 

She hadn't been expecting him, or the festivities that came along with him. She hadn't been expecting the crowd period. All the people she hadn't met for the past year, all crowded in her family's great hall, speaking all at once. 

She made her rounds on the tables, greeting every friend as she passed them, staying to chat for a few minutes before she passed to the next one, old friends she missed and others she really didn't want to see, but were invited anyway. 

When it was finally over, she was glad, moving to the kitchen to grab the most her arm could carry and along running to her room. Having conTurning the key in the lock and finally, finally, taking her tight bodice off. It left her breast to the air and she didn't remember feeling this relieved in a while. 

In her daze to find bathroom, she opened the seconds door instead of the first, and had to fumble for the lights before she realized this was the adjacent room, the one she used to store her dolls in when she was younger. But the glittery pink surfaces had been traded for a much more subtle decor. A single bed and a closet with a glass sliding door, along with a desk with a chair in the corner. 

She closed the door, opening the one adjacent to it, turning on the lights before she turned on the faucet to fill the tub.

She grabbed a robe and waited for the bath tub to fill, she checked the scented oils laid out at the side cabinet and frowned in distaste, noting an absence of foaming bath oil. Good thing she'd thought to bring along bath bombs, although she probably should go shop for some extras soon. 

Staring at the wall paper she dialled his number from memory, she discarded the rest of her cloths and sunk into the warm water. He answered on the third ring, his voice just as she'd said her goodbyes to him less than twenty four hours ago. Rich and warm and gentle. 

He'd be cooking at that time of the night. He loved midnight snacks when he worked late. "I just put the sweet potatoes in the oven." He greeted. 

She couldn't help the grin. "And I just took my cloths off."

"You drunk?"

"You know me so well."

"It must've been really good then."

"Or really bad." She deadpanned, "Depending on who you ask."

She heard the clank of dishes as he moved about in the kitchen, "What did they do?"

She told him what her parents had deigned a good idea to do, and about all the times she had to smile and shake her head in greetings. "My jaw hearts," She complained. 

They talked through her bath, and later into the night as she ate what she'd come up with from the kitchen. At one point, there were knocks at the door and she shooed them away, pretending to sleep.

When she did sleep, it was a fitful night, in a bed she hadn't been in for the last three years. 

The next morning, she woke up with a headache, her stomach roiling. She barely made it to the bathroom when loud knocks came from her bedroom door. She was ready to ignore them if they weren't making her headache worse. So she moved to the door, unlocking it, then back to the bathroom. Whoever was on the other side could let himself in.

Even after the bath she took last night, she still though she smelt of alcohol, her stomachache didn't help the case. Brushing her teeth and washing her face wasn't going to cut it, she needed a shower. 

Dripping wet, she looked for a bath robe, only to realize that she'd left it laying on the bed last night, she groaned in annoyance, turning off the faucet and looking for a large towel to cover her nakedness. A knock on the bathroom door stopped her, she was glad she'd unlocked her bedroom door. "A towel, please." She yelled from behind her door. 

The voice that answered startled her. "Right here, Mistress." A male, she'd imagined the knocker to be one of her mother's hands, coming to call her for breakfast. 

But it wasn't. Memories of the man sitting in the corner rushed back, and she remembered why she'd drunk so much last night. Why every time her glass had emptied, she'd have it refilled. 

"Leave it at the door."

"Yes, ma'am."

She waited a few seconds before cracking open the door, and snatching the towel from where he's left it. She would have to speak to her parents about him today. He was gone when she emerged from the bathroom, cloth tightly wrapped around her middle.

The migraine had subsided, but she still felt her stomach roiling. She found clothing that she slipped on quickly, and it wasn't until she moved over to the mirror to apply her makeup that she noticed the glass of water sitting beside a pill. 

She hadn't realized how incredibly thirsty she was til she gulped down the whole glass, and reached for the pitcher to pour more. 

The rest of her makeup forgotten, she applied sunscreen and headed out to see her mother. The dining room was empty, but she wasn't surprised, in the good months of the year, they had their breakfast in the veranda. And that's where she found them minutes later. 

Her father's bellowed voice greeted her, while her mother, sipping on her tea, inclined her head, smiling behind her cup.

"I trust you slept well?" 

She nodded, not bothering to correct her mother, and took the third seat around the table. She reached for juice, not sure she could stomach anything else at the moment. One of her mother's hands came to fill her glass, the woman young and pretty, one she hasn't seen before. Perhaps she wasn't her mother's after all, since the woman liked to keep the older women as they were more experienced.

Her mother filled the silence with chatter about their guests of last night, how she missed her daughter, that they wanted to stay up longer and talk, "Speaking of which, since when do you sleep so early, it was barely midnight."

"My classes are all in the morning, so I have to sleep early. I guess I'm just used to it now."

"But you didn't need to lock the door." Her mother nodded to her left, where a brown haired male stood in a butler's uniform. "Poor Keith had to sleep on a rug with the kitchen boys, Suzanna"

Poor Keith, indeed. The Keith she hadn't looked onto since she sat at the table, purposefully keeping him in her peripheral vision and as she sat turned towards her father. 

"Yes." She nodded, moving the glass orange juice away, "About that, dad. I hope you haven't transferred the ownership papers to my name yet."


	3. 2

Jameson looked at his daughter with question in his eyes, then moved his gaze to his wife who nodded, as if to say, I told you so.

The look that passed between them only lasted seconds, but it was enough to irritate Suzanna. That was a look she knew very well. A look that told her that they've already picked sides, and teamed up against her. She refused to squirm in her seat like she would've done years ago whenever she landed herself in trouble. 

"Well of course I have." Her father finally answered, "It wouldn't do to have you worry over paperwork. Especially since you're only staying for a few days."

Suzanan squared her shoulders. "You shouldn't have, really." She turned to her mother, so she was speaking to them both, "I appreciate the gesture. I really do. But I was hoping you'd keep him here, in the house. I can't possibly take him with me."

Her mother feigned a frown, "I don't see why you couldn't. He is of decent breed, have had good education,and would be a great asset to you." She sipped on her tea, "If it's him you don't like, we can always find another. But you haven't even had the chance to properly meet him."

Her mother held out a hand, vaguely gesturing to where Keith stood undiscerned, "He tells me you haven't had two words of purposive conversation."

"It isn't about him, mom." She said, "I just don't feel like I'm in a capable place right now to own another human. I can barely take care of myself, I don't think I should be trusted with another soul.

Her mother snickered, "Hear that, James? She says she can't take care of him." She turned to her daughter again, "Honey, we buy them so they would take care of us, not the other way around. And Keith is a functional human being, I'd say he can take care of himself and you both without batting a lash."

"This isn't what I meant, and you know it." Susanna grounded.

"We're just saying he's going to make you like easier." Her father interjected. "He'd run errands and do as he's told. He cooks good meals, too, I've tasted it. And with the current diet I understand you've been maintaining, you'll love what he has to offer."

"You sound like a salesman, dad." She told him. But she was ready with her next line of defense almost immediately, "Where am I supposed to keep him, I barely have room to move around with my room mate."

"It's time you move out of those dorms you call houses, they're practically little cells." He answered. "We know you,wanted to stay close to make friends in your first years. But that's done and over now. You have your friends and you're familiar with the city. You can take the apartment we've talked about when we visited campus." 

"That's ridiculous." She echoed, "You want me to change my living accommodation to fit in someone I don't want to be living with in the first place."

"No, this," Her mother retorted, hand gesturing to all three of them, "is ridiculous. My daughter living in inns is ridiculous. You being the only one  without a damn slave in yesterday's gathering is ridiculous." 

"So this is what all this is about?" She demanded, "Me being a lackey in your social circles, keeping the gossip at bay."

"No." Her mother denied. "This is about you arguing against a gift your parents had spent so much time and effort trying to acquire for you, and spitting on it."

"I didn't spit on it." She protested.

"Do you know how many girls your age wish for an asset like that?" Her mother didn't wait for her answer. "A lot. But there you are, sitting down and coming up with excuses to avert it."

"That's not what in doing."

"That's exactly what you're doing. I won't sit back and watch as my daughter becomes the gossip material of every house in this country."

Suzanna raised her hands in disbelief, Her mother couldn't possibly be serious. "Me not having a-"

Her mother cut her off, Her voice swift as a blade, "A slave is a lifestyle. A way of living. Your household should own one. If not for yourself, then for the neighbors watching."

The logic was so faulty, Suzanna didn't know where to begin her argument or where to end it. She didn't need to, though, because her mother's next words left her no choice, and made squabbling further a waste of time. 

She had  lost the argument as soon as money was brought into equation. Her mother's thundering voice that they won't be paying for another semester of college if she didn't comply.

"I don't care if you take Keith or another," Emalyn Cruz said, "You're not leaving this house without a slave."

Her mother was being dramatic, but Suzanna knew that she meant every word she said. She would indeed empty her visa cards and stop payinga for her university. Her father said nothing, so she knew not to expect help from him. 

"Fine." Suzanna finally said, "But know that you can't always force my hand. You can't have your cake and eat it, too."

"You can store him in the cupboard for all I care." Was her mother's answer. 

After Suzanna had stormed out of the veranda, having eaten nothing, Emalyn turned to Keith. "I've done my part, now it's up to you." 

Keith bowed his head, a slight smile on his lips, "I'll do my best, Ma'am."

"You better."


	4. 3

She tapped her long nails on the hard wood desk she's been sitting on for the last couple of hours. She had brought home a few assignments to do over the two weeks of her stay, but every time she started on them, she'd just get distracted, catching herself daydreaming halfway through proofreading her graphs. It was a disaster in the making. She still hadn't figured out a way to tell her boyfriend about it. He wasn't against slavery, per se, he just had certain ideals and thoughts that didn't fit together with what she's about to tell him. 

On the other hand, she didn't think she should make assumptions on what his reaction may be. He was the type of individual who could be defined as understanding. It's why she was drawn to him in the first place. Well, that, along with his golden eyes and defined jaw.

As if her day dreaming took a more realistic form, she found deep eyes staring at hers. They weren't golden, though, these were very expressive. Her eyes slid down his face to the crooked nose, than to the parted lips.

She blinked, and he averted his gaze. They couldn't have locked their eyes for more than a second, before he was going to his knees on the empty rug beside her desk. 

The kneeling would have to stop, she decided. Thinking of her lover scrunching his nose in distaste. He'd commented on it once when they were on the subway, how he thought the kneeling bodies on the tram to be the utmost of absurdity. 

But she wouldn't have to worry about it until another week. Until then, it didn't matter if the slave kneeled or prostated himself. There would be room for correction later. 

Sitting her mug of hot chocolate down beside her laptop, he adjusted the handle so she could easily grab for it, then set down a small bowl of minicookies. She frowned, the worse thing that has happened since she arrived at her parent's place, well, aside from the slave, was her ruined diet. Her boiled veggies long forgotten, the healthy menu she maintained overseas replaced with pastries and chocolate treats. She looked at him, ready to snap, this won't do, it won't do at all. 

Over the last few days, they've grown more familiar with each other's presence. Or at least, as familiar as she'd allow it. She kept him away and out of her sight, often ordering him to the room adjacent to her bathroom, with the single bed and the closet with sliding glass doors. The first time, he'd kept the door open, presumably to hear her if she called him. But she made a point of asking him to close the door behind him afterwards, so she wouldn't have to look at him every time she passed. 

She wasn't mad at him, she knew that her inability to stand up to her mother was in no way his fault. That he had little say on who bought him and where he ended up. But that didn't help ease her dry attitude towards him, if anything, it only made it worse. Especially with him taking her attitude as any slave would, bowing his head and apologising, repeatedly, for something he hasn't done. 

It only infuriated her further. 

"Anything else, Ma'am?" 

When she glanced up, He was still kneeling there, his head craned forward, his eyes shining with something she still couldn't place even after the few days she had him buzzing around her. It would probably take her months to figure him out, not that she was planning on it.

"No. If I want something, I'll ask."

She went back to her illuminated screen, brushing him away as she reached for her mug, but he hadn't moved.

She raised her head, arching her eyebrow, waiting. 

"If I may, ma'am?"

"What is it."

"Today is the Dalfest." He said, mentioning the one day of the year where slaves typically were allowed a free pass to mingle. Most owners let their slaves join with the slaves with the other households and together they'd go on an outing similar to a free people's picnic, usually lasted til the next day's morning hours. 

It was obvious to Suzanna what he was asking, without really asking. 

"You can go." She waved him off, she suspected that she wouldn't have felt his absence if he left with the rest of the slaves without telling her beforehand.

"I don't-" He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable, before saying, "That's not what I wanted to ask you, Ma'am."

"So you don't want to go." She said. "I don't care either way. You do whatever you want."

"That's not-." He started saying, but quickly amended that line of speach, probably trying to get the words out before she cut him off and made the wrong assumption again. "I wondered if you'd like a specific choice of food. I couldn't do that the last few days since Sida was around. But with her going tomorrow, I thought I could ask you if-"

Sida had been around long before Suzanna could even recall. And if she remembered correctly, Sida always left an early made launch every year before she left. "Sida isn't leaving sandwiches?"

"Yes, Mistress." He nodded, "But I thought I could do something different, if you'd like."

"Don't bother." She shook her head. "I'll have whatever Sida leaves."

The last time she'd seen someone so crestfallen was in the mall, when a little boy's mother refused to buy him his choice of candy.


	5. 4

He was waiting by her bed when she woke, kneeling so close, on one of the pink rugs she had, it startled her. "What are you doing there?"

"Waiting, Ma'am." He said, his face a clean mask. She couldn't get anything out of it. Not emotions, and not expressions. "What would you like for breakfast. Sida has still not arrived."

Ignoring thequestion, she ran a hand through her hair. "What time is it?"

"Seven in the morning."

"How long have you been kneeling there for?" 

"Less than half an hour, I didn't think you'd be up before seven."

She stretched her arms, yawning. Remembering the events of the last few days, she felt ready to go right under the covers again. She took a look at the watch on her nightstand, as if confirming the timing he'd told her, then sighed. 

"I can help you relax, Ma'am?"

Absent mindedly, she checked her phone. "Hmm?"

"I can help make you feel better. I know how to please."

Her tone sarcastic, she said, "Of course you do." 

"I can make you feel good."

"You've said that already."

He, taking that as a que, reached for her cover. She slapped his hand away, sending him a glare. "Try that again, and you'll suffer."

"Apologies, ma'am. I only meant good."

He lowered his head, eyelashes fluttering. If there was anything that had passed on his face, she'd missed it. She felt the tug to force his head up, to see what he felt. But she quickly discarded the thought. Instead, she found herself saying, "Get out. Go to your room. Don't come out til I call for you."

She had planned on keeping him confined until very well into the night, not wanting to see him at all.  It she ended up getting him out of the room much sooner than anticipated, her mother demanding his presence as they left for another one of her furniture hunting trip.

"It's perfect." Her mother told her, waving a manicured hand around, Where different decor settings were glamorously presented, "You'll choose from here, and they'll pick it from the stores in your area. It'll be ready before you even arrive."

Except that it wouldn't. 

She only had half of what she was going to do planned. The other half, she had left for chance. She was hoping she'd get lucky, because she still hadn't told the man in her life any of what has unfolded. 

The days after that blended through one another, and she was ready to get out of her parent's scrutinizing gaze at last. 

It wasn't just her living arrangements they'd commented on, it was everything bout her. Her mother kept calling her the new Suzannah, pointing at her jeans and comfortable sweatpants in distaste, crunching her nose when her daughter got out of her room in her glasses instead of the lenses. Small things like that, built up every day, until she was ready to explode.

Packing for travelling was a quick process for her. She had only brought the essentials, she'd only planned for the time spent to be light and among family. Tea parties and outings weren't on her agenda when she emptied the closet. 

Another short jeans on the already compressed suitcase, and she was ready to zip it. Only realizing she was being watched halfway through, she turned to face the man who had become her shadow for the last couple of days. He'd pop up everywhere, and anywhere, offering help. She declined the hand of help more often than not. But this time, perhaps because of exhaustion and her less than adequate sleep routine as of late, she nodded her head at his extended hand, getting off the suitcase she was trying to zip. 

He made it look much easier than it was, and quickly set it on its wheels. She turned and grabbed her backpack, "Grab your stuff, and my suitcase, and let's go."

She was already out the door of the room when she heard him call back, "I dint have anyting I'll be taking with me, Ma'am."

She whipped her head around, scanning him. She'd seen him emptying his closet the day before. "Where did all your cloths go."

She had the same attire, since she's gotten here. Well, multiple changes of the same attire. A white button up shirt and black trousers, it was what all the male slaves wore in the house. 

Her mother appeared at that moment, carrying an envelope in her hands. "I thought it would be a good idea if he started anew. All the cloths he had are bland, I'm sure you'd find more fun things to put on him, build a while new closet." She beamed, handing her the envelope. "These are the keys, you know the address." She winked, "I've had something extra sent there for you. I'm sure you'll love it." She looked over her daughter, "Why are you still in your pajamas?"

Suzannah rolled her eyes. "These are work out cloths. I'd be more comfortable travelling in them."

Emalyn frowned, ready to argue back. But was slowed down by her daughter rushing past her, mentioning for the slave behind, "C'mon. We're going to be late."  

Keith followed her, infringing his head to Mrs Cruz, as if in final goodbyes.

She argued throughout the whole way to the airport, holding the phone to her ear and looking anywhere but at the slave who sat beside her. 

He was ushered away from her as soon as they arrived, and brought back to her as soon as she found her luggage. 

He was sore from not being allowed freedom of movement, and felt a throbbing headache. She stoped him as soon as he lifted up her suitcases to put them in the trunk of the taxi. She motioned for him to get in, speaking to the taxi driver in a low voice, handing him a wad of cash. 

She turned to Keith at last, rummaging through her back til she found the small envelope her mother gave her. She handed it to him, lowering her face til he could see her through the window of the car,  "He'll drive you to the apartment. You stay there til you hear from me."


	6. 5- slave's POV

I waited long hours, that turned quickly to days. She hasn't sent anything with me, only myself and the cloths on my back. If the broker hadn't thought to leave refreshments in the fridge, I probably would've only had water. 

I thought about using the landline to call the Cruzes, but discarded the idea as soon as it came to mind. It wouldn't only mean I had failed to keep her attention on me, but also, if I had any chance of success at all, I would have to earn her trust. Calling home would ruin any chance of that, and it would displease her, probably even invite punishment. 

Musing, I thought that punishment at these circumstances wouldn't be so bad. Negative attention was better than no attention, I was taught. 

Again, I discarded the idea of getting any attention at all. Swallowing more flavored yoghurt, there were a dozen in the fridge. And in normal circumstances, I would've asked for permission before eating anything at all. But these were difficult times, and they called for difficult measures. 

I had spent the first day in the small room that was designed for two slaves to share, walking around in circles, opening then closing the empty closet. By the second day, I was ready to break my fasting, and stalked to the kitchen with as much confidence as I could manage. The whole time, I had imagined her turning the key in the lock, and seeing me like that, hunched over and taking what I wasn't given. 

But she had no keys. She gave those to me so I could get into the house. And I was taught to take care of my owner's property when my owner wasn't around to take care of me. Eating was taking care of myself. 

I imagined I would be punished for being so bold. But I didn't mind I it as I once might have. My owner was never focused enough for me to tell me anything during the days I've known her, I've only ever seen her staring at her laptop screen, for hours at times. 

By the time the third day rolled, I had already cleaned the already spotless place twice. And was sitting down for another launch of strawberry flavored yoghurt when the doorbell rang. 

I jumped. As any slave would. And hasted to cover my tracks before I stopped myself. There was no point. Even if she didn't see, I'd tell her anyway. I reluctantly left what I was eating on the kitchen counter, and moved to peek through the peephole. 

It wasn't her. 

Two men were standing with a large box between them. I weighed his options, and the doorbell rang again. i had much to lose if it were something important and I ignored it. For all I knew, she could be the one who had sent it. 

I opened the door. 

I was in my butler uniform, having washed it with water and soup the previous night. It was as good as it was going to get. 

They knew what I was the moment he opened the door, I didn't need to explain the situation. 

"Where's your owner, then?"

"Not here, Sir."

"This is where Suzanna Cruz lives, yes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, when will she back?"

"I don't know, Sir."

The two men shared a look, before the first said, "You have a marking chip?"

In other words, was I trusted enough to be given something they could scan to prove they've delivered the box. "No, Sir." I wasn't trusted enough for that. 

The two shared another look. "No information you could help us with?"

I was bout to tell him that I had no idea, but then the second man was tapping on his pad, then scrolling down. "Wait. There's another place listed here."

"We can just return tomorrow."

"Who says she'll be here?" He shot me a dirty look. "This one looks like a secret project in the making. Besides, she paid the fees for fast chipping."

They battered for a few seconds, completely ignoring me. Before they hauled the box, and left. 

I should've known that little afternoon encounter was going to cause trouble. I thought about calling her, only to realize I had no way of knowing her phone number. 

When night time rolled, I went to the bed, rolling around, unable to sleep. 

I had gotten up to get a glass of water, when the doorbell rang for the second time in twenty four hours. 

It was her this time. 

Except, it wasn't. 

I'd known her straight-backed, confident looking, woman who walked as if she had the world figured out. 

The woman who stood on the other side of the door was anything but. 

Her mascara had left stains on her cheeks, and the rest of her makeup smudged in places. Her hair was a mess, and she only had one shoe on, the other she was in her hand, as if holding it for fear life. 

She passed by me, her voice shaking, "Water!" 

I hurried to comply, bringing over the glass I had filled for myself. She gulped it down in one go, before turning to me, and handing me the now empty glass. "A bath would be great right now.

I nodded, and hurried to comply. When I came back, she was still sitting where I left her, hadn't moved an inch, the pointy heel still clutched in her hand. "It's ready, ma'am."

She nodded, moving to stand up, before sitting back down and trying to get the other shoe off, her fingers twisting at the clasp in vain. I stalked closer, only to kneel down and offer my hands. She stared down at me, frowning, before nodding. 

She stood up again, only to Chuck the other shoe across the hall, before stalking to where I pointed. I had to remind myself that although the house was hers, I had lived it longer than she had.


	7. 6- Slave's POV

She had a mini sparkly dress on, one that I helped her take off. She let me help her with freeing her hair from the twist she'd had it in, and didn't shoo me away when I kneeled to check the temperature of the water again. 

My mistress eyed the empty shelves of the bath warily, before stepping into the water, and releasing a sigh. 

No words were exchanged. She was clearly upset, but physically healthy. 

She stayed inside until the the water started cooling off, long minutes stretching, she didn't cry though, nor rub at her eyes. She didn't look at me, either. I was used to that, free folk ignoring my presence, pretending I wasn't there, or part of the decor, blending with the walls. 

She let me run the wet cloth I brought on her skin, and rub away the mascara that smudged her face. 

After that, kneeling to the side, but within her line of vision, I wondered what she thought about, what was running through her mind. 

When I got up to grab a bathrobe, she didn't seem to notice. But then I approached her, slowly reaching out as to not startled her. She was silent as I wrapped the robe around her shoulders, then tied it, and guided her to the bed. The one I had spending the morning changing the sheets of.

She was silent as I lead her there, letting me touch her. I had touched her that nigh more than I had touched her in the whole past two weeks. She turned to me, just as I was turning the blanket so she could sleep under, and murmured something that, even when I stood so close to her, couldn't hear. And I had to ask. Throughout the whole night she'd said nothing after asking for her water and bath. I wanted to know what she said, so I asked, then wished I haven't.

"It's you." She whispered, "All because of you." 

Then, as if realizing something, she whipped her head back, her saggy arm, and the body I had guided so easily so far, was no longer as gullible as she pushed me back, the movement so sudden I almost lost my balance. 

"You!" She yelled, her voice returning to her. And pushed again, this time with both hands. "All because of you!"

I moved back a step, then another, before my leg stumbled into an object, and I came crashing down.

Her hits didn't stop, however. Only instead of the hands, it was the legs now. 

The kicks were strong, she didn't hold back, but she soon went down after me, her hands fast as thunder, the slaps hard. I knew they'd leave hand prints, and that I'd wake-up tomorrow with bruises on my ribs and upper thighs, where she'd landed the most kicks. 

The outburst was gone with the same speed it had started. The raining strikes diminishing, then disappearing all together. 

I heard her sniffle, and when I opened my eyes a peak, she was sat down on the floor, inches away from my body. She seemed more in control now, but I couldn't be sure. 

I didn't think sitting up was a good idea, times have taught me that staying away and hidden and out of sight were the best rules a slave could choose to follow. I was ready to close my eyes again, and wait for the moment to pass. But then I saw the tears, silent tears streaming down her face that turned into gasps of pain, then howls. She was bowed down, grasping her middle and sounds of pain, ones I've never witnessed a free person make. 

It was devastating.

And it made me abandon the rule of staying slight and low. I sat up, slowly, ever so slowly and with great care, then reached out. 

Even in her state, especially in her state, I had imagined I'd be pushed away, and ordered out. Or maybe received more slaps. 

She didn't, however. It was as if her body's energy had all but abandoned her, leaving her so empty and hollow, that she'd let a slave wipe away her tears, and hold her. 

We sat huddled on the carpeted floors, huddled around each other, she in her bathrobe, and I in nothing but my underclothes. I had no time to put anything on when the doorbell rang.

Eventually, the gasps quieted down, and her clutch on my shoulder sagged. Seconds passed, and then, when I imagined that she'd finally, finally remember who I was, and push me away, she did. 

But only to pull me in again.

It happened so suddenly, I think, he yank on my hair, her lips on mine, her other hand scratching my back. 

In those moments, I wondered if that was a free woman's thing to do. To hit, then hug, then kiss. Was this the usual way of how things worked among free people. I didn't imagine so. 

Maybe it was the disorientation she was in, or perhaps the hormonal change. I've read that hormones could do a lot of that. Could be the case of emotional changes so abrupt and out of place.

I wondered, as her teeth grazed my lips, as my lips parted in surrender, if she knew what she was doing, if she were aware of it. Maybe the body was doing all the work, maybe her mind and heart had nothing to do with that at all.


	8. 7- Slave's POV

She didn't just kiss me. 

She wanted more. I guess free folks always do. They take and take, until there is nothing to give, and nothing to offer, and then they discard the object that's no longer useful to them. 

She scratched my back. She had long nails that probably left long angry lines that I would add to my armada of wounds from tonight, I thought darkly. With her tongue still in my mouth, she managed to make the inches between us disappear, and moved so she straddled me. Grasping my hair even tighter, she pulled, forcing my head up as to not lose the contact.

Skin to skin, she was warm from the bath, while my body prickled from the bite of cold. I hadn't turned on the heater. In my head, I cursed myself for forgetting, but I was too preoccupied with her sudden appearance that I've forgotten all that I needed to remember. 

Too late now. If she'd planned to go all the way here, on the floor, she'd probably feel the bite of the cold soon. And I'd feel the bite of something harsher, too. Maybe if I could move us to the bed, the covers were thick. 

A bite on my lower lip brought me back, it's like she knew that I had lost focus, and wanted to remind me. She succeeded, I had grown quite bothered, and the grinding was only making it worse. 

She broke the kiss to pulls back. So abruptly, she pushes me away as she gets up, I almost lose balance for the second time that evening. 

"Get out!" She yells. I hesitate, Not understanding. Has she changed her mind, have I done something wrong. I hadn't moved to do anything she may not have liked, I was being subservient, and had let her lead through it all.

That didn't matter. I was in the wrong, I must be. And so apologies must be made. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I don't-"

"Out!"

This time, I complied. Maybe I could make amends later. Later. Her back was turned all the way from me, and she didn't turn when I left and closed the door firmly behind. 

I couldn't get much sleep that night. And I didn't dare get up to get the glass of water I never drank. I was too afraid to do anything but breath, and only got up when dawn broke.

The food had lacked essentials, but there were tooth brushes and paste in mini packages of advertising samples. The paste has all but ran out, but that wasn't a problem since she was here now, she'll probably wake up and order him to get supplies as soon as she realizes what's missing. The problem was his facial hair. She might've been too preoccupied the previous night to see the stubble, but she won't be today. 

Another thing to add to the long list of worries, then. It's not like there was anything I could do about it, though. 

Wandering to the kitchen, Not that there was anything I can make with the lack of ingredients I was offered. I ended up just going back to the bed, and closing my eyes as I rested my head on the iron headboard, I went into fitful sleep, only to be waken up by a bang, followed by loud cursing. 

She was still in her bathrobe, clutching her head with her back hunched when I made it to the kitchen. From the looks of things, she had bashed her head on one of the cupboards' doors. How, I had no idea.

The stream of curses continued, but she did stop to snap at him, "Ice! Don't just stand there!"

There was no ice in the freezer. I knew. And so I went for the closest thing that help, frozen yogurt. 

I rushed to give it to her, but she only threw it right back at me. "I said ice!"

"No ice, mistress." 

"Why the hell not?"

She'd removed the hand clutching her forehead to yell at me, and a quick scan told me that there was no blood, but it would definitely bruise. "No ice packs to freeze, ma'am"

I offered the yogurt cup once again, this time she took it. Throwing her hands in exasperation, "A coffee maker without coffee. What am I to do with that?"

I had no time to answer, because she had went on, going to sit on one of the stools, "And no shampoo. No soup, either."

Because there's no one to buy them. Groceries didn't appear out of void. I would've told her that, but I couldn't tell her that. 

She went on, "And why are you walking around naked?" 

"I'm sorry, ma'am." I told her, "I'll put something on right away."

When she didn't answer, I took it as my permission to go and do just that. The butler uniform had dried over the night, and I put it on in a hurry, only to almost pump into her in the hallway, her eyes on the mirror reflection hanging right outside the door. "This is going to show for days."

She turned to me, "Why are you wearing a tuxedo?" She asked, her frown deep, "Don't answer that. You came with the clothes on your back." She shook her head. 

"Supermarket right across the street. There's cash in my wallet, coffee, obviously, toothbrush and paste."

"Just-"

Clearly annoyed with whatever I had to say, she shook me off, voice high and irritated, "I'll obviously have to go for a grander spree soon. But just that for now."

She turned, her hand still on her head, and I contemplated asking for what I wanted. She was clearly in a bad mood, and I didn't know her long enough to judge how far I could push before she'd snap. 

She'd discarded the purse on the floor when she arrived last night, and I had hanged it behind the door. I took enough to buy what she'd wanted, contemplating one more time if perhaps I could risk asking her. But then opened the apartment door and left, not daring to.


	9. 8- Slave's POV

I only remembered that I didn't have the keys to open the door when I made it back. I rang and waited, she opened the door immediately, holding her mobile phone to one ear and mentioning me in using the other. "Bathroom," She mouthed. "And coffee."

I hurried along to do her bidding, her voice loud behind me. "Yes, just these. The notes are on my table underneath the white pile of cloths. It's a bit of a mess. But you'll find them easily." I couldn't hear the rest of it as I went to the bathroom to lay the essentials, "-when he isn't there. I don't want to pump into him. If this wasn't important, I wasn't going to get out of bed at all. I might as well take the rest of the week off. But missing today would cost me a grade down." 

The coffee machine was easy enough to handle, and I had hot coffee brought to her in minutes. Sugar and cream on the tray. She nodded to the side table.

"Sugar. No cream."

She took it without a comment, still on the phone, nodding as she listened.

She clearly was not going to mention what happened last night. If pretending that nothing ever happened was how she was going to go about her day, I couldn't complain. But then again, nothing did happen. She threw me out before it got too deep. 

Why was that, I wondered. 

She left after rummaging through the closet and throwing most things out, her mood not lifting, and without sparing me a glance. 

I spent the day dusting cinder that wasn't there, and putting back the cloths she threw on the floor. I was done much sooner than I would've like, and was back to waiting mode once more. 

Having her around, it seemed, would be no different than not.

She came back only hours later, her arms holding stacks of paper. I ran to take them. A man behind her, holding shopping bags. 

She motioned him in, holding the door open as she pointed to the kitchen. "On the counter, please." She said, "Don't put anything on the floor."

The man, who I realized was the doorman from downstairs, nodded as he went in. 

She disappeared into her room with the papers and the files she's been holding, and came back out without it, finding me in the kitchen. "Can you cook?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Her eyes roamed over me as I bent to get yet another jar of peanut butter out and into a cabinet. She seemed calmer than she was this morning, all the rush and energy had disappeared, and instead she looked solemn and calm. 

"You'll be in charge of the groceries, then. For today, though, I ordered out. It should be here any minute now." I emptied another bag, this one full of crackers and chocolate bar. I thought she was on a diet. She only ate from a list of things she'd given to the cook in her parents house.

"Don't put these away." She said. "Just leave them in the bag, and bring them to the living room."

She turned on the TV, and when the doorbell rang with the delivery man, she made me sit and shared the meal. 

"You didn't have breakfast today, I'd wager." Her hair was up in a bun now, and she was in brand new pajamas. I still sat in my white shirt and trousers. 

"No, ma'am."

"You can eat whenever you want. It was stupid of me to leave you the past days without checking on you."

I didn't answer. This wasn't the sort of statement that required an answer. But I was glad she's given a blanket permission, this would save me a lot of trouble. 

"There were refreshments the broker left in the fridge." I offered. "I had some."

"Good." She approved. And I let out a inaudible sigh. 

We ate in silence after that, no exchanged words until I stood to gather the remains, "Two delivery men came the other day," I started. "They had a box-"

She stilled, which made me wait to weigh my words, I couldn't have said something to warrant that reaction. Her eyebrows were coming together, a clear sign of distress. "And you gave then my address. My other adress."

The accusation in her words was clear, I was quick to deny, "No!" I said, my arms raised in defense. "I wouldn't. I don't even have it, how could I,"

She looked stricken for a moment, but accepted my reasoning, motioning for me to take away the food. I wondered why it mattered so much, and why she'd come back in that state yesterday. I wouldn't ask. But maybe she'd share the information of her own accord. Not that I was counting on it. 

She wasn't thrilled to have me in the first place, even when owning a slave was a sign of power and wealth. And instead of showing me off, she had locked me in the moment we landed. It wasn't the typical behavior or what I was expecting.

"You'd have to buy something to wear soon, too." She commented when I emerged from the kitchen, "This won't do at all."

A shopping spree. Now that was something I'd expect a filthy rich young woman to do. Finally something I can work with.


	10. 9- Slave's POV

But that shopping spree never came. At least, Not how I imagined it would. 

She phoned a cap, and sent me to get groceries for a week, along with any necessary items that I needed. 

She was constantly in a bad mood, it was worse than when she was back home. I almost feared punishment even though she never did anything to suggest that one would come if I annoyed her enough to warrant it, she never even threatened. 

She hit me twice when I got the amount of sugar wrong for her morning coffee, but she was amused with the latte art afterwards that I couldn't possibly call it a serious infraction. 

She mostly ate her launch alone when she came back every afternoon, watching TV and falling for a nap, then staying up all night studying. 

If my skill in kitchen had surprised her, she hadn't shown it. But she never commented negatively on it, either. So I thought I was in the clear. 

She had not tried to kiss me again, nor came anywhere close to me, she mostly ignored my existence as a whole when I wasn't serving food or offering to bring her anything.

It went like that for three days before any sort of change took place, and it was in the appearance of a man on the doorstep.

The man was quick to cause a catastrophe in the house. Because as soon as he'd told me to call my mistress -and he'd done.that right away, as if he knew who I was without looking twice. As soon as he told me to call her, the situation suddenly became violent and noisy.

She was there in seconds, even though she'd spent the past couple of days colonizing the couch unless she had to eat or go to the bathroom, even though she barely moved at all. 

His voice had that affect on her. 

But her reaction to seeing him wasn't cool and stiff, it was violent. I saw my Mistress's eyes darken before my eyes, in her rumbled up sleeveless satin nightgown that she's been wearing day and night these days, her skin pale. She was angry. 

"What are you doing here?" Was the first sentence that made it out of her mouth. 

He'd taken a step in, and managed to close the door with his foot with a light click before her voice rose, "Who the fuck do you think you are, showing up at my place like that?"

The man didn't seem phased by her reaction, as if he were expecting it. "Can we talk?"

"Like hell we can," She yelled. "How did you know where to find me?"

I was ready to interfere, the stranger and I both had approximately the same height, and the same built, I knew if I throw my whole body weight at him, I could probably force him out, and was ready to do just that. I even took a step towards him. She clearly didn't want him here, which was all the reason I needed to kick him out. But as soon as I took the step, put my hand on his shoulder and extended the second to open the door he just closed, she was on me, too. "Get off of him!"

I raised both arms defensively, she wasn't about to get him out on her own, she wouldn't be able to. Clearly, this was an ex boyfriend situation. If I would have to guess, it was the same boyfriend that had her in a mood that whole time, that only solidified my belief that he needed to get out. "But, ma'am-"

"Your room! Now!"

If she was upset to the point of yelling at him when he appeared, it only made sense that she'd want him out, and once I'd acted on that want, she'd flipped, and so, clearly, I was missing something here. 

"I'm sorry-"

Not allowing or giving me the chance to finish, she bodily pushed me away from the other man. "Your room, Keith, now."

It was the first time she'd ever said my name. I was under the impression that she didn't know it at all, for she never said it before. She's never looked at me the way she was looking now, either. The eyes that met mine were so intense, I was convinced that she meant what she was saying. 

And so I obeyed.

I left them for their screaming match. And that exactly what it was, a screaming match. Although most of the screaming wasn't his. The man's voice only came out in whispered pleadings, "I'm sorry, I made a mistake." And "You're right.."

"You don't get to throw me out of our shared space, just to show up at mine!" She'd say. "The nerve of you." 

He agreed with all she had to accuse him of, and took it in a cool voice that betrayed his sorrow and nothing but regret. Eventually, she was tired, her voice gone raw, and it was quiet outside.

They must've sat in complete silence for sometime before, again, they went on. This time, however, the boyfriend who broke my mistress's heart was more vocal. And had some words to defend himself with, it went on for a while, them in low voices, until he accused her of being a liar. To which she became livid. 

I wondered why she'd bothered ordering me away. It wasn't like they were trying to get any privacy with their voices so loud, and even when they were quietly speaking, I could easily hear the words spoken. Perhaps she'd only wanted me out of the way. 

A few hours later, they were settled and calm again, this time, however, it seemed that the peace was permanent. 

When I emerged from my room at last, the both of them were submerged in each other's arms.


	11. 10- Slave's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've been only typing the slave's POV for the past couple of chapters. I have to ask, which do you prefer more. His or her POV?

When I saw them so happy and cozy bundled up together on a couch, I had come to the conclusion that I'd be serving two Masters now. Because even though it was my Mistress who truly owned me, he was the lover she chose, and that just makes him automatically a person I needed to please if I wanted to keep her pleased.

It becomes clear, given the events why she was so angry and irritated throughout the past days. Why the diet she had refused to break back home had become a mess of bundles. She was dealing with a breakup, or at least, a big fight that had lead to a separation. 

One that was so serious, obviously, because it didn't need a bouquet of flowers or a fancy chocolate box. And only took a few hours to sort out. 

Oliver was the type of boyfriend who slept in my Mistress's bed, ate her food, brought a bag of laundry to be done, but still refused to move in. Or at least, bring the rest of his stuff to her house. 

They had a dynamic of speaking very softly to each other, and kissing soundlessly whenever they happened in the same room together, which was always. 

I went for my second grocery shopping only a day after he appeared, because I, for once, had an idea of what she wanted her meal to be, whereas she refused to give pointers. 

I was walking on eggshells when it came to her meals and only realized the difference when I finally had a map to tell me where I was going. 

The morning after he showed up, I walked on them in the kitchen. It was too early, and something told me that they haven't had much sleep at all.

She was sitting on the kitchen counter, and they both were doing their morning routine of keeping their mouths locked together when I heard her ask. "You never told me some thing."

Another kiss, and he asked her what she wanted to know. 

"How you found the address. No one knows about it."

"I developed a sixth sense." He answered, "I've told you before I'd be a good detective."

"Oli," Giggling, she swatted the arm he was holding her with away, "I'm serious."

I was contemplating whether or not I should make my presence known, for maybe they wanted their time together without interruption, when he answered her. 

"The box of wares, remember that?"

She sighed, looking away. 

"Hey," His hands moved to cup her cheek, "I don't regret it. You shouldn't, either."

"The last few days were hell."

Yeah, ask me about it. I thought.

"They were for me, too." He told her. "But I'm glad they happened. I'm happy that I've uncovered one more mystery about you."

All that whispered, romantic talk. I've heard it before, but only in soupy movies and TV shows. However, my Mistress seemed to be enjoying it, because she bowed to peck his lips. 

"It was really as simple as calling the delivery company," He told her.

"And they just gave it to you, just like that?"

"Just like that."

She giggled again. But he had more to say. 

"Although," I could almost hear the smile in his voice, which couldn't be possible, but I did. "I might've opened it."

That he opened the package left me a bit confused, I still wasn't aware of how involved they both were. Enough to open each other's deliveries?

My owner was confused, though, probably from all the kiss they've been doing, "The box?"

"What else," He replied, "And guess what I found."

"I don't want to guess." She said, "I don't care either way, you can throw it away."

"I'm going to tell you what I found, though, I insist," There was a light pause before he said, "Toys."

Before she could counter, he added, "A staggering amount of sex toys. You said they didn't send cloths with him, they apparently wanted to atone for that with vibrators and plugs and other things that I couldn't possibly know what they're for."

She didn't answer for a moments, seemed to be as speechless as I was astonished. And not because I was so surprised about the novelty of it, I probably could name each and every implement that could possibly be in that box. It wasn't as if the concept was new. It was simply that the Cruz's didn't seem like the sort of family who'd send items of that sort.

From the weeks I've spent in the family house, I had the impression that Mrs Cruz was a traditional woman who liked following rules and detested being the centre of gossip. It was part of the reason she and her husband acquired me for her daughter. Because she didn't want my Mistress to be the only one in their social circles without a companion. 

So for her to send something so controversial when she rarely uttered a swear world was out of character, to say the least. 

Oliver, the boyfriend, wasn't done talking, however, "That's not all there was."

She pushed him away to jump off the counter, "What could possibly be worse?"

"I don't know if it could be called be worse, really, it's all under the same category." He replied, "There were implements of punishment. You know the ones they use in public Capitiols."

Capitols, the word all slaves detested and feared all at once. The place where convicted slaves ended up if  they sinned badly enough or broke a law grave enough, and didn't have owners who cared enough to bail them out. It was hell on earth, and also a public domain where anyone could watch as punishments were dished out. 

My mistress grimaced in distaste, something that I admit brought me peace. Even when I knew that she wasn't a sadist who enjoyed pain, that open revolution on her face still meant a lot.

The boyfriend smiled, as if amused by her reaction, but quickly assured her, "Nothing as outlandish, though. Just a few implements of impact punishment that are on a much smaller scale."

 

I really, really, shouldn't be updating nor writing at all. I have tons of things to do and is drowning in unfinished chores, but I just couldn't help myself. Your feedback had been absolutely wonderful. Thank you to all the people who took the time to type in a comment, you made my day!


	12. 11. Slave's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I don't have time to edit this one at all, it's been so long since I updated I just wanted it out. I'll come back and edit whenever I have time. Meanwhile, please let me know what you think. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!

If I hadn't known any better, I would've thought that my mistress and her lover were on their honeymoon, their laughs and whispers and promises of eternal love never stopped throughout days after he came to her doorsteps, I had begun to think that it was their usual routine of behaving until, at last, they settled.

It wasn't as if their lust for each other had suddenly weined, it was more of a situation where both of them had something to focus on. 

My mistress had her studies that she's abandoned for the past weeks, the papers were starting to pile up, and she finally decided that it was time to catch up to all she's been ignoring. 

The lover had band business, for I understood that it wasn't her college and mutual studies that landed them in each other's arms. Oliver McKenzie had never went to college as luck would have it, he barely finished school as it was. He spent his days roaming the streets as a guitarist for an unknown band and playing music on sidewalks. 

I quickly understood what Mr and Mrs Cruz had been so outraged, why they sent for someone like me to be brought into the picture. They knew of their daughter's latest venture and wanted the quickest outlet. And what better way to stray a young woman's heart than another man who'd do all she asks. Namely, myself. 

But I was ignored for the most part, it was like she didn't see me at all, unless she had something to ask, which I would tend to dutifully. She didn't seem to notice my looks. The same looks that had her parents pick me for. At least, she hadn't noticed since that first night, the night she seemed to have completely forgotten about. 

We kissed, but that was all there was. And she didn't seem to have a mind for continuing where we left at all. So far, the main reason I was purchased for I couldn't handle doing. I couldn't get her to look at me long enough to do much of it to begin with. 

The worst part about being the slave in the relationship is that you couldn't initiate the connection. You always had to wait, wander in the shadows hoping to be noticed. And I've done that for a while now, long enough to know that it wasn't working. 

If she refused to give me the time of the day, I had very little choices. The obvious one, the one usually slaves never used. 

I was to draw attention inviting wrath instead of reward. 

My mistress wasn't shy of handing out slaps nor kicks, but she hadn't done either since the incident of the kitchen. 

I wasn't planning on doing anything extremely outlandish, only little things that'll eventually add up if she doesn't immediately notice. I couldn't risk her fury, and I couldn't distract her too much, especially knowing of the fact that she's fallen back from her studies. But I also couldn't wait until she was less stressed, I wanted to do what I must when the boyfriend was far and away, and I didn't have the clearest idea of when he'd be back. It could be a few days, or maybe more. I had to act when I could. 

It started small, indeed. I burnt her toast in the morning, which only earned me a scornful look. "Get me another one, then." She ordered. "And be quick about it."

Which I did, handed her the piece buttered and on a plate. She ate silently, before slipping her shoulder back on and leaving, without making another comment. 

I was sort of disappointed by the lack of response, and so was adamant on doing something more noticeable for my next infraction. 

I couldn't be too persistent, though, or I'd be found out quickly enough. So I made launch and set everything in order before waiting for her. I waited until she finished eating, left the kitchen and  went to her books and papers and was deep in taking notes before approaching the dining table she's been using as a studying den lately. 

"Mistress." I start. 

She murmurs a yes. The same yes she usually uses when she isn't really listening. I try again, and again, she doesn't raise her head to look at me. The third time is a winner, however, because her head snaps up at last. 

She's frowning, but at least she's looking at me now.


	13. 12- Slave's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess I haven't been working on this as much just because I was daydreaming too much about my other story and how will I go forward with it. The prospect is just so broad and would pretty much carry anything and everything.  
> Happy Sunday!

Her eyebrows are drawn together, her voice snappy when she answers. "Yes!"

"I was thinking, Mistress," I started, "My hair. I thought I could use a haircut. And-"

She was looking at me so intently I had to stop talking. I hadn't broken a rule she's been so adamant about by initiating a conversation. But then again, I had only been with her for so long, I didn't know what she'd call a serious transgression.

She hadn't given me a once over since first time she saw me, and not even then. She leaned away from her desk, then crooked a finger at my direction. I went to my knees at her unspoken order.

She ran a hand in my hair, pulling at the curls as if she's seeing them for the very first time. Her hand travelled south, touching my ear, then my neck. I couldn't say anything. It was the first time she's shown any interest since that day she lost her temper, and I didn't think she was at the rightist of mind to know what she was doing then anyway. 

Her hand travelled to my chin, feeling the smoothness of a clean-shaved face, "You shave every morning."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes mistress."

I thought the moment would last forever, for her voice was low and raspy. Her eyes never leaving mine, she was in a mood I wasn't very familiar with. I thought I had her. I thought I'd finally caught her attention the way a slave like me should've since the day I met her.

But as quickly as it had started, it ended. She withdrew her hand, her eyes flying back to the screen she's been surveying  before I came to her. "I think your hair looks fine. If it's bothering you, you can tie it back." She looked back at me, "Or use bobby pins, I have an unopened pack in the second drawer of my nightstand."

I thought I hid my disappointment well, but it didn't matter anyway, for her attention was no longer on me, I'd only had it for a fleeting moment, and now it was gone.

And so I nodded, getting up.

Small steps, I reminded myself. I got her attention. And attention was better than no attention, even if it was for only few seconds of running her fingers through my hair. 

That night, she came to ask for dinner before I'd come to tell her it was ready. And I felt her eyes on me more than usual, watching my every move as I cleared away the plates. And she still didn't get up even after I started washing the dishes. In any other situation, I would've stopped what I was doing at once and asked if there were anything she'd require of me. But this time out of all the other times, I didn't, for it didn't serve my purpose. 

That evening, I waited for her to finish her studies and go to bed as I always do, but she saw me lurking in the shadows, and called for me. 

"You staying up again tonight?"

"I couldn't sleep before you do, mistress."

"I think I'll be up a long time, You should probably go to bed. I won't be needing anything of you."

I almost said yes, the "Yes, mistress" was at the tip of my tongue, but I faltered, and instead said, "I could help you, mistress."

She studied me with interest, and I saw the rejection coming, and so I pushed, "I am well educated, mistress. Graduated top of my batch. I have the same knowledge a bachelor graduate would. I could double as a secretary and a PA if asked." 

I was ready to list the rest of my qualifications and jobs I could fill if I were a free man. But I didn't need to.

"Very well," She said, pointing to the chair closest to her, "sit." 

I hesitated, but did as she ordered. Sitting at the very edge, tense and expecting the worse.

"Make yourself comfortable, we're going to be here a while," She handed me a stack of papers, which I took easily. "These are results of an analysis that needs to be recorded. What you do, is you count the number of people who answered these questions with yes, and write the number here." She brought a paper with a table on it, and handed it to me, "You go through each question separately, there's an empty space for each answer of every question. Once you reach the tenth question, you start with another table. Sounds manageable."

I had very little time to think, and even less time to respond, and so I only nodded. She seemed pleased, "If you have a question, do let me know."

"I will."

"Good, you can start."

The work wasn't tiring as much as it was confusing and repetitive. I had to cross out multiple sections before I finally got the hang of it, but I was glad for any sort of work anyway, it was better than waiting in the kitchen for her to finally go to bed. 

We worked in silence, her typing away, and I trying to figure out where to tick next on my table, and it was a little more than three hours later when she closed her laptop, turning the screen off in the process. "I think we've had enough for one night, don't you think."

"I'm not done yet, mistress." 

It came out more of a whine and less of an objection. Certainly not the apology I had meant to convey. 

But she only laughed, "Of course you aren't. This would need days of work for it to be remotely closed to being done with."

She got up, and I hurried to do the same. I'd spent more time with her this one night than all other days combined since I'd met her, I ought to be happy, not sulking. But I couldn't help it, that was not what I had in mind for when I spent time with her. Perhaps something less to do with papers and numbers and more to do with fingers and silken sheets. 

All in good time, I reminded myself


	14. 13- Slave's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, I posted chapter 12 without adding chapter 11, skipping it completely. Oh well, I hope you enjoy.  
> Happy Sunday!

When she came home the next day, she had me sit with her again. And we reached a silent, but rather efficient pace in which we worked with. And as the stacks of papers moved from one corner of the dining table to another, I lost some of the bent up energy that had been eating at me since I was given the task, but just as I was beginning to think that I could finish it all that same night, she announced that she's had enough. 

"I don't think we should overdo it. I'm starting to detect spelling mistakes all over my assignments. And I'd think your eyes are starting to wear you out."

"I don't mind, mistress."

She rolled her eyes, standing up. "Of course you don't. Nonetheless, I think we've done enough for the night. It's the weekend, after all." 

I stood up, and she shut her laptop, turning to go to the living room. "I think it's time for a snack. See if we've got any left."

I did, and she had me join her as she chose a movie and we sat to watch. It was the first time this has happened, it was always the boyfriend who sat on that couch with her, them humming and commenting, never me. But she had called me over, "I hate watching alone. Sit."

We were inches apart, the lights dimmed and the people on the screen having a screaming contest. I had wondered how long it would take for her to finally break the ice. She'd already kissed me, but hadn't taken it any further than that, and hadn't mentioned it again. She didn't shy away from hitting me, but so far, it was only on the passing and the occasional slaps. She never gave him a proper beating or threatened him with a thrashing. I'd found no crops or whips or even a paddle anywhere in the house, it was like there was no slave living to warrant these sort of things. I sighed inaudibly, of all the things I could think of, it wasn't as if she couldn't get them if she wanted, they'd be in any warehouse or slavemart within a mile from here, they were easier to buy than milk. 

I inched closer, and when she made no move that indicated anything I was ready to move even closer, I was contemplating it when she yawned, stretched, and went to lay her head on my thighs, putting her feet on the couch. 

"You let me know if your leg stiffen." 

"Will do." I promised. Not in a million years.

I've waited for this for too long to just let myself be defeated by muscle pain. I was too pleased with myself that second anyway, all that waiting had borne its fruits. A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have let me anywhere near her, now her head rested on my lap. Her hair was shiny, and curled at the very end, gathering at the nape of her neck, it wasn't enough to reach anywhere, but I still had the fleeting image of what it would like, on a pillow spilled around her. 

On her neck was mole, dark and small, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her skin, period. But I couldn't, not yet, not if I wanted to be kept, not it I wanted to avoid unpleasantries. And for all I know, I could be kicked back to the starting point with little to no warning, she didn't need reasons to hit me anyway.

In a daze, I didn't hear the ding of the bell until my mistress turned to look at me, the side of her face illuminated by the light of the TV.

"I'm not expecting anyone," she said, but she got up anyway, and I took it as cue to get up and see who it was. 

I didn't know the woman who stood at the door, but then I didn't know any of my mistress's friends, so that didn't really mean anything. She wore a skimpy dress underneath an oversized coat and glittering makeup. She was looking at me expectantly, as if I were the one trespassing on her private property and needed to explain what I was doing there. 

"I'm Sybil," She said after a brief silent stretch of time, "This is Suzanna's house, yes?"

Before I could answer, my mistress was there, "Siby? What are you doing here?"

The woman didn't bat an eye, "Not going to invite me in?"

"Of course. Come on, come on in."

I moved aside to let her in before anyone could tell me to. My mistress was in my lap just moments ago, she was close enough to touch, and I almost did touch her. I didn't know who this Sybil was, or what she was like, but I knew that her timing couldn't have been worse, and that I hated her for it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I lost my keys, and I was too tired to call someone. I was going to go to a motel, but then I remembered you sending me your address two days ago, and it was close. You don't mind, do you? You did say that we ought to meet sometime." 

My mistress led her in, "I was thinking more of a brunch sort of thing when I said that, but sure, a late night visit would be just as grand."

Sybil laughed, but didn't seem to take offense on my sister's standoffish repute, "Same old you."

"You wanna crash?"

"I wouldn't mind taking the couch."

"I don't imagine you would," she said, turning on the lights in the living room and gesturing to the couch that we occupied only moments ago, "You hungry?"

"I wouldn't mind a snack."

My mistress sent me a look, and I moved to obey, there was still some left of the food I prepared earlier.

But the woman was far from pleased when I brought over the plate. "Oh, Suzanna," she breathed, "Only you would call Apple slices smothered with peanut butter a snack."

I was tempted to tell her that there were also mini chocolate chips on top, but held my tongue just in time for her to announce, "I shall sleep hungry tonight, then."

"I wouldn't want you to sleep hungry," my mistress, ever dutiful, "We have rice crispies or hummus if you'd like."

"Rice and hummus!" Sybil turned her had to the side, as if thinking about it, before saying, her voice grave, "I shall sleep hungry, my dearest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am looking for a beta reader. If you're interested, let know.  
> Also, comments are reviews are always welcome. Although, do try to keep them constructive and not too harsh.


	15. 14- Slave's POV

I had changed, turned my covers and was ready to go to bed when Mistress appeared on the door of the room I slept in. On instinct, my eyes swept the room for  anything that was out of place that I should've fixed. I was told that the room and the space I had would regularly be checked to see if everything was in order, or even to look for anything that wasn't mine to have. It was something that the senior slave had done at the Cruzes. Here, however, Mistress hardly came around. 

"I'm leaving early tomorrow," she said, "I want you to keep an eye on her in the morning. Make her breakfast and send her on her way as soon as possible. Don't let her wander around too much."

"Will do, mistress." I nodded, although I had very little idea of how I was going to manage a free person to do as I bid. Especially someone who shows up on your door in the middle of the night, uninvited, and takes the couch as theirs without so much as asking. 

As it seems, my facial expression didn't reveal much of my internal disoriented thought, for she seems pleased. 

"When should I have breakfast ready?"

"Don't worry about it." She waved me away. "I'll buy coffee on my way."

I never understood free people's fixation on buying over priced coffee that they can get with fraction of the price if they only made it at home. After the great depression, nobody indulged in such luxuries, and the coffee shop businesses went bankrupt, companies worth millions went out of business. 

Years later, and when the economy overcame its own obstacles, everything went back to just the way it was, coffee shops included. Everything, except for slavery, for slavery was what saved the economy in the first place. 

I didn't argue, though. Living with this owner, you learn quickly not to. She follows all her dietary rules to unbelievable acute degrees, with the exception of coffee. 

I did as she's asked, didn't prepare a breakfast, but woke up early just to be there as she leaves. She wasn't a morning person, barely said her goodbyes as I have her the keys and her phone, and then she was gone.

My Mistress didn't seem too fond of her friend, and it didn't take me long to find out why.  

I had kept an eye on her throughout the first few hours of my Mistress' departure, and she had slept soundly as I went through chores around the house, not stirring for once. But just as I disappeared in the kitchen to start the preparation for launch, I came back to find her gone. The blanket she used was crumbled on the floor, and right beside it were the heels she wore last night, so I knew she was still in the house.

I checked the guest bathroom, but couldn't find her. And as I was just in the kitchen, and had passed the open study room that my Mistress never uses. That only left my Mistress's room for her to be in. 

I cursed. She had specifically ordered me to keep an eye on her, she never went out of her way to have me do something. And the one time she did, I fail exceptionally. 

She was nowhere to be found in my Mistress's room, and neither was she in the adjoining bathroom nor the dressing room that never gets used. I stood contemplated where else she could possibly be when I noticed two drawers were ajar in the left-hand side of the wardrobe, a section my Mistress never uses. 

So she's been here, just not anymore. And there was only place left that I hadn't looked in. 

My room.

And indeed, she was there. When she turned, her arm halfway down my drawer, she didn't seem surprised to see me, nor embarrassed that she was caught snoopong. Granted, I owned nothing of it as a slave couldn't possibly own anything, but that only meant that my owner did. 

She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she laid eyes on me. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

It was a reminder of the reason I've been bought for, but my Mistress didn't seem to care for it much, and so it stopped being a big deal even with me trying to press the issue of my usefulness. Still, it stopped me on my tracks, unhinged me in a way I didn't think possible. But then she turned and started opening another drawer. And it was enough to snap me out of my daze. "What are you doing, ma'am?"

But she didn't look back, didn't even seem to hear me at all. And as I made my steps towards her, she was already done going through it all, a nd closing it with a thud. 

"The Cruzes send their regards," Sybil said, "Emalyn especially. She wanted to be here, to check on things. But didn't want Suzy on edge."

Mistress hated to be called that. 

But she's said something else. Something borderline dangerous. And made very little sense. She was sent to assets the situation, then. To find how far I've reached.

She went on, "She's wondering where you've gotten in the mission she's set you on. Is he gone yet?"

"He's on tour,"  I told her, "But he'll be back."

She laughed soft and sweet. "Tour? He travels in a van and sleeps in motels."

I didn't say anything. There was nothing to add. 

"I've found no trace of anything of his anywhere, though."

"He doesn't leave anything overnight."

"So he hasn't moved in here. At least you were good for something."

I wanted to tell her that it wasn't reason. That I had nothing to do with it. That I'm completely ignored and looked over, and that yesterday she's ruined the moment the closest thing that came relevant. I should have told her. It was my job to tell her. It was what I was bought for. To drive the boyfriend out and away.


	16. 15- Slave's POV

I wished she'd stop jabbing questions at me, that she'd get out of the room I slept in, but no such luck. "Has she f you yet?"

I was mortified, I didn't think she'd go that far in her line of questioning. "Ma'am?"

She looked at me expectantly, silently telling me that I wasn't evading this one. But I still wasn't ready to give that information up. Wasn't ready to confess my failures. "I don't think it's appropriate of me to discuss my Mistress's private affairs, ma'am."

"They're only private if she's ducked you. But she hasn't," She searched my face, her eyes calculating. "Has she?"

I was determinately silent, looking anywhere that wasn't her. 

"Has she done anything else, then?" She asked again, "Did you pleasure her any other way, then? Or have you failed in that, as well?"

"Please, ma'am." I tried again, "I can't disclose-"

She threw her hands in the air, shaking her head, "Haven't done that, either, have you?"

I turned around, looking pointedly away. For once, I wished for the freedom of a free man, only so I could  push her away, and muscle her out of this room and then out of the house, too. But I wasn't, and I couldn't. And so I quickly disposed of the thought, it wouldn't do to wish harm on free people. And it would take me nowhere.

Arranging my face carefully, I faced her again. "I need you to step outside, ma'am, or I'll have to tell my owner of everything that you've said, and the reason why you're really here." I met her eyes. "I'll tell her everything."

"Right."

"I will. I mean it. Everything."

She paused a moment, studying me carefully, then, "You think she'll thank you for that? I mean, in the long run, you think she'll be happy to keep you around once you ruin her relationship with her family." She wrinkled her nose, amused. "She'll hate you."

"Her family's decisions are their own, I can't be blamed for their actions. They were the ones who bought and set me up to this. They're the ones who want to meddle in their daughter's love affairs. But as of the moment they gave me to her, my loyalties are with her."

"She'll hate you," she repeated.

"That would be my owner's business."

In the face of my refusal, she humphed, still looking amused, and sidestepped me, trotting outside. I followed her as she collected her discarded bag, then put on her shoes, and then to the door, opening it.

I was ready to breath a sigh of relief when she turned back, a mischievous smile splitting her face, as if up to something I didn't know about. "I'll be reporting to Amelia, you know that. I'll have to tell her everything I saw and heard and found out."

I schooled my features carefully, answering, "What you do is your business, ma'am. I'm but a slave."

"You're a slave, alright."

And with that, she was out.

Going to closet in my Mistress's room, I checked for anything out of place before going through my usual duties. 

Even with the indifferent anterior that I'd shown Sybil, I was very worried. I had known who that stranger was the moment that he'd shown up at the door, I was shown pictures of him, and told exactly what he does and who he was to the woman who was about to own me. 

I was bought precisely to get him out of the way. But after I'd gotten here, and seeing her lack of interest in me, even when I made an effort to draw her in, it felt for nothing. 

I had lied to to Sybil, it wasn't because I wanted to protect my owner's privacy that I refused to tell her what she's been after, or at least that wasn't the whole idea behind my closed lips. I was ashamed. 

If I had succeeded in what I came here to do, I probably wouldn't have had a problem reporting my winnings with glee. I might not have shared intimate details, still. But I would've told her what transgressed between us, and would be proud of it. 

This rejection was affecting me more than I thought was possible, and more than I should've allowed it to.

But the truth stands, I had failed so far, doing everything promptly and my shy tries had done nothing to get me where I needed to be. Perhaps it was time to take things to another level. 

When my Mistress came back that day, I was ready.


	17. 16- Slave's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated every Thursday

She had left the papers and tables she was filling last night on the dining room, in a jumbled mess that looked like a prospective chore hat I could use to get closer to her. I sit down, and start where I left yesterday. I had only been at it for a few minutes when the landline started ringing. 

Standing up, I creep to it slowly. There was no caller ID, but I thought I knew who it was without it anyway. The woman Mrs Cruz had sent was not bluffing, I knew she'd report back. But I still defied her. I didn't want to disclose information on the situation in my Mistress's house. I was better trained than that. I couldn't reduce myself into ratting out the woman whose home I lived in, and whose food I ate. It just wasn't in me. 

The conditions of my sale were not ordinary. My task was explained to me with care, but I had been under the impression that I only had to draw them apart, not spy and tell of her whereabouts. 

The phone stopped ringing, and I had barely breathed a sigh of relief when it started ringing once again. Biting my lip, I looked at it as if waiting for the predator in it to come eat me whole. I persistently ignored it, and made my way back to the table, forcing my eyes away, and going back to my papers. I couldn't evade confrontation forever, I knew, but I can evade it for as long as I can until I have something to tell her that doesn't break owner's trust. I could hold on. If ever asked, I could always say I didn't have leave to touch her phone. 

The phone gave out one last screech before finally going silent again, and I went back to the papers, filling each form, and I had established a pace when I heard the keys in the front door. 

My first thoughts were of my Mistress's boyfriend. I didn't think he had keys. But it had to be him, my Mistress wouldn't be back yet. It was too early. But it was her. I could know her steps anywhere. I did a double take on the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, too early for her to be home. I hadn't finished preparing launch yet, I stole a guilty glance to the kitchen as I stood up. 

She looked disoriented and irritated. I moved a step closer, unsure of how to make it better but willing to do anything anyway. I had begun to kneel when she asked, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Mistress?" Here, where else would I be. Right where she'd left me. 

"I've called three times!" she said. "Why didn't you pick up?"

"I-" So that was her. I slapped myself mentally. It was her. So much for trying to please her. I had but one answer to her question. "I couldn't answer it, Mistress."

"Why the hell not?" She asked, "And why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

The shirt was me being wistful. "You never said I could, Mistress. I didn't have permission to use it."

"You're being absolutely ridiculous!" she said, impatient, "But I don't have time for that now. Put something on. We're going out."

I wanted to ask what it was, and where we were going. But I didn't think she'd answer me anyway. 

If I'd thought to answer. If I hadn't been a complete wuss, trying to dodge all that I could, being selfish and thinking of no one but myself, she wouldn't have become so irritable. I reminded myself that I had very little choice in the matter, that I couldn't have known, as I moved to grab something to put on. She followed me into my room. "When did Sybil go?"

I grabbed the closest white shirt, sliding it over my arms as I answered, telling her when she had, and leaving out everything else. I heard her mutter a curse. I wanted to ask what it was, but held my tongue.

I started taking off my pajama bottoms, and she moved closer to me, my hand froze midair, I wondered if she'd want my underwear off, too. Was she interested, was she going to make a move, at last. 

But she only breezed by me, her arm brushing mine as she reached for the few identical shirts in the closet, she brought one down, running her hand through it. "These won't do at all," she said, "You brought nothing fancier?"

"I only went to the one store, Mistress. I brought necessities only, as you've ordered."

"Necessities for that day," she said, exasperated,  "I've given you allowance since then."

"Allowance for groceries, Mistress."

"And for anything you might need." 

I didn't want to argue. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I must have misunderstood your intentions."

I thought she'd slap, I'd definitely earned it. If only for misusing the money she's been leaving since I've arrived. But she didn't, only waving me off. "Well, let's move it, then. You've just added another task to my list."

I nodded. Hurrying to obey.


	18. Suazana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this morning, I had written the part and was ready to copy, and paste it here(I type on my phone) when, instead of copying it, I clicked the keyboard by mistake, and it was all gone. I was so mad, it took me a few hours just to calm down. And if this had happened just a month ago, it would've taken me weeks to have it in me to type the same part again. But I had promised myself that I will be posting a new part every Thursday, and I intended to keep that promise. Anyways, if you like, please comment, and leave kudos. Although, really, if you've read this far then you're clearly into it.   
> If you find any errors, mistakes, typos, words that aren't used where they're supposed to be used, also, let me know, please.   
> I do not have a beta reader, and I also my never proof read, so :)

Suzana's POV

 

My mother's call when I was in one of my lectures was not one I expected. Mostly, because she only ever called late at night when she's had a drink or two of wine and wanted to talk about all the pompous women she surrounded herself in, and tell me how much she hates the way her life has turned out to be. Even when that life was the one she's been working towards her whole life. "They're too whiny," she'd say.

She doesn't during the day, and so has no reason to call during the day. I rejected the call, then turned my phone off because I knew she'd keep calling until I answer. I couldn't wait for my twenty minute break and called her right when I got out of class. 

Her voice came steady, She didn't sound drink nor upset, but rather determined and on a mission. "Where were you?" she asked, "Why can't you answer my calls when I need you to?"

"I had a class."

She huffed a breath, but I already knew that whatever she was calling about, it wasn't an emergency. 

"The Porters have dropped your father. He's alone in the next Senate elections." 

The Porters were father's biggest supportors and contributors. Our family and theirs have known each other for years. Markus Porter had been the one to put the idea of running for office in my father's head, and had been offering his money and time ever since. For him to drop my father made little sense to me. "What happened?" And why was she calling me to tell me this. 

"It doesn't matter what happens. It doesn't change anything. It only means we need to work harder."

Harder for what, but I didn't ask her that. Instead, "Is dad OK?"

The elections, the public appearances, his political stance in the past year, the endless charity balls and tea parties my mother has been hosting meant very little to me, I didn't care if father won or not. But it meant a great deal to him, and I wanted him to be happy. 

But the reoccurring television interviews with photographers scattered in our house trying to capture how the Cruzes really live their lives had put enough pressure on me to find a city far enough where I can attend college without the hustle dad has created around our family.

My mother didn't answer my question. "I've had invitation cards made," she said, her voice came muffled as she ordered someone, likely a slave, out of her way. "They just need a date."

I wasn't following. "A date for what?"

"A date to be stamped on them," She snapped, "Aren't you listening to me?"

"I'm listening, mother. I just don't understand. What do you need from me?"

"I need you to befriend Arabella and Vanelle Soyer, along with the Lawrence boy. I want them in my fundraiser next week along with their parents. I need you to give me a date, so I can send out invitations for everyone else."

"Mother, I can't-"

But she wouldn't hear it. She wouldn't hear any of it. She had called to hear the sound of her own voice giving me directions and orders that needs to be followed. 

"Your father is going to-" she stopped, her voice turned to angry whispers before she went on, "Your father is going to lose. He has no support. And he's going to mob for years about it. And people will start talking. I will not have that!"

"I really want to help," I told her, "I really do. I can talk Arabella into it. But I've barely exchanged a word with her cousin. And Lawrence, I don't even know what he looks like. How am I supposed to woo them into-"

"Make them like you," she said decisively, "Invite them over, show off that miserable slave of yours, enchant them with a spell. I don't care what you do. Make it happen, or this family is doomed."

And with that, she hung up. As if nothing more needed to be said. I might have travelled across the continent to distance myself from this ordeal, but my mother could still find me whenever I set foot, and consequently ruin all my planes of a life free of these kinds of events. And when did the slave she left me with become a miserable being, can't I please her no matter what I do. 

Too upset to walk to me next class, I stared at my screen for long seconds before I looked up Arabella's number. She answered on the second ring. 

"Come over," was her way of saying hello. 

"I have a favor to ask."

"Come over," she repeated. 

"I still have two classes to go to," I said.

"So do I," she laughed, "but you don't see me there with you, do you?"

"No,"

"You sound upset," she said, "I'll send you the address. You need to loosen up, and we'll talk. You'll tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."

And so I did. I got off campus, got into my car, and drove to her house. I'll probably regret it later. Hell, I regret it already. But my thoughts were too jumbled, and I was too shaky to go to class. The words my mother didn't say were hanging in the air. If he loses, it'll be my fault. Because there was something I could do, that I didn't do. 

A male slave, naked but for a nude g-string opened the door when I rang. He bowed. "We've been expecting you, ma'am," he extended his hand, "this way, please." 

Arabella was still in bed, in a robe that she clearly had just put on, her red hair in brilliant waves around her head. She smiled when she saw me, her white teeth shining between pink lips. One couldn't be this beautiful when he's just woken up, it just wasn't natural. 

She opened both her arms, beckoning me closer, I obliged. She smelled just as heavenly as she looked. "You made it!" she squeaked. Letting me go, she put both little hands on the side of my face, "As I thought, you don't look well. Ronan makes the most brilliant blueberry smoothie, I'll have him make you some."

"Of course, mistress." Ronan said behind me, "anything else?"

"If it's not scalding hot anymore, bring the sugar, too," she sounded more gleeful than the situation warrented. And this time, there was no answer. I was curious enough to look at him, only to find a slight blush of red creeping from his neck and up his face. His eyes looked everywhere but at us, embarrassed, he asked, "Now, mistress?"

"Now."

His Adam apple bobbed as he nodded, then turned to obey.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter under the username @sindinver  
> Meanwhile, do let me know what you think of the new part. I had written a longer chapter that ended up surpassing 2k words and so I split it into two. This is the first part

Suzanna

 

Arabella turned to me the moment her slave was gone, a wide, mischievous smile on her face. "He was doing my taxes yesterday, and just managing the money spent in the last three months. He said I spent a fortune on laser hair removal sessions." She waved a hand, "You know I hate doing it."

She's been avoiding numbers since I've known her, and probably long before that. "He started talking about home remedies for hair removal," she went on. "Said that it even makes the skin smoother, silkier. I wanted to try it, you know"

I nodded. Because watching her be this enthusiastic was a joy, and I had momentarily forgotten what I came here for. 

"Naturally," she said. "I'm not going to try it on me."

"You're-?"

"Yes!" She jumped off the bed, her silk robe sliding off one arm to reveal white milky skin as she came closer to stand inches away from me before lowering herself to whisper in my ear, "Except, I haven't told him that yet. So it'll be one pleasant surprise."

When she saw my expression, she humped to defend herself. "It can't be that bad! Women do it all the time. It'll probably be equivalent to a prick in the hand. Nothing major."

"It's not that," I told her. I didn't usually have to mask my reaction around Arabella as I usually do around other women and men who had my mother's stamp of approval. I say what I mean and mean when I say around her. And what she found amusing was never sadistic. She hadn't a mean bone in her body. And compared to any other of the privileged kids I knew, she was a light breeze come to spread light. Her tricks were cheeky and never upsetting or left long lasting damage. 

"What is it then?" 

"I came here to talk to you about something."

"Are you OK? Is everything OK?" 

"I'm fine," I rush to tell her. Then go quiet as I weigh my next words in my head. I was to be transparent with her if I needed her help. Because even if Arabella didn't feel the same way about being a part of the upper class, and loved every luxury it brought her, she still didn't feel the need to remind me of the same luxuries I'm enjoying, or to ask me to get off my high horse and join the rest of them down on the ground. And even when she never was able o understand me, she never stopped trying anyway. But even if I wanted to tell her the truth as it is, it would create questions that I could not answer. And it wasn't my truth to tell anyway. I'm not a politician, I couldn't explain my father's motives.

So I said instead, "I'm throwing a party, at my house, to celebrate," I stopped to think, what was I celebrating exactly. "I just moved out of the dorms." More like, thrown out of the space I shared with my boyfriend. "So I wanna celebrate that."

"I didn't know that. I would've thrown you one myself as a surprise. congrats! When is it?"

"I don't know yet."

Her eyes searched my face for an indication of what I meant, be for she said, uncertain, "That's not why you're here though."

"No. And yes." I sighed, this is me begging for friends from another friend. Friends I didn't even want to be friends with. "I obviously am here to invite you. But I'm also here because I want your contacts. Everyone you can think of."

"What contacts?"

"I don't hang out with our people. I don't know them." Arabella knows the real reasons behind my uprooting to another city. It wasn't because my current university was the only one to accept my application. It clicked at once, then she nodded. "My phone and I are at your disposal," she said, then cranes her neck to shout, "Ronan!" Then she turned to me, winked, and said, "as long as you stay to enjoy the show."

I nodded as she left the room, I was curious to see the slave's reaction. Although, from his hesitation earlier, I thought he already knew what his Mistress was planning for him. And he should've been living enough with her to already know what was up. She's had him for a few months now. 

He came in, kneeled down, then put my glass of drink on his Mistress's nightstand, right beside me.

"He heated the wax again, as if had hardened," Arabella sighed.

"I've put it in the fridge, Mistress," he hurried to tell her, "it should only take a few minutes."

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "As long as you don't sleep on it this time around."

"I won't Mistress, I promise." He hurried away, taking the tray he'd brought my glass in with. 

"He's still adjusting," she said, as if in apology, "I don't know how long this will take."

He was fidgety. That much was clear. "I still don't understand why you've let the first one go," I trailed off, she'd wanted one since we were teenagers. But both her mother and father refused her, until she'd turned seventeen. The slave was with her for at least four years before the shinier Ronan appeared.

She sighed again, "We all have got problems with our parents being pushed into people we don't want. Yonus had been my dad's choice all along. And he was old. Too old." 

I disagreed, he was not as good looking nor as young as Ronan, but he was competent, and they'd made quite the pair. I didn't say anything else, though, I thought the story had more layers to it than she revealed, and I didn't want to push her. The subject was clearly one she didn't want to get into. "And anyway," she went on, "Ronan looks much better next to me, a true eye candy. Which reminds me, you need one eye candy of your own soon if your mother means for you to join the clique."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have not typed in the next part yet. I have a very vague idea where this is going as it is. But I think I'll probably be able to do it by the end of next week. I dunno.  
> Kudos are greatly appreciated, but comments help me much more;)

"I got one," I told her.

"No way! When did that happen?"

"The same time the apartment happened,"

"Don't you just regret every moment you didn't have one?"

I thought about it. About the obstacles it had created with my relationship with Oliver, and the brief breakup. But then thought of the clean house that I've been coming to everyday, the meals he prepares so meticulously well, and his smell when he sat by me on the couch last night, the way his thigh brushed mine. If it weren't for Sybil barging in without invitation or a warning, our evening would've escalated into much more before I could've even realized it. 

My silence have her the ideas that I especially didn't want to give her. "Don't tell me," she said, "You haven't navigated the possibilities! What are you doing?"

I feigned confusion, "What possibilities,"

"Well, for one, no vibrator needed ever again," she thought a moment before amending, "Well, not ever, but like, you now have an array of possibilities to choose from," she continued in shushed tone, "they're so, very talented."

"Well,"

"You've always been so stiff. You need to loosen up a little."

"There had been no time." And also, there's the fact that I've never been with a slave before, one doesn't know when to initiate contact when he's always looking away, never meeting my eyes unless he was asking how I liked the food or whether or not I wanted my coffee with cream and sugar. 

"Now you're just being silly, seriously. Unbelievable!"

She wouldn't understand, she'd had a slave since she was seventeen, it was like second nature to her by now. But I tried explaining anyway, "With a free man, it's simple, we both want it, we both know the limits and-"

She cut me off, shaking her head furiously, "But that's just it, there are no limits to what you can do. He'll do whatever you want him to do. It's why he's around." I was ready to disagree, shaking my head, and she saw it. "Here, I'll demonstrate," she said, then called, "Ronan!"

He appeared, still in his g-string that left nothing for the imagination, and bowed before her, holding a jar of what looked like honey in his hand, a wooden spatula inside it. "It's not quite ready yet, Mistress."

"There," she ordered him, pointing to her bed, and ignoring his statement, "lay on the bed."

He did as ordered, still holding the jar in his hand. I stood up, "You're going to burn him just to prove a point, and I'm the one being unbelievable!"

She took the jar from him, her eyes searching his body. His chest was hairless, and so she moved her attention to his legs, getting him to raise them, then proping them up with a pillow. "It's what he's here for,"

"For you to burn,"

"For him to please me. And it pleases me right now to do that to him."

"I really-"

She cut me off, "And he doesn't mind, do you, boy?"

"No Mistress," Then, of all things he could do, he turned to me, and said, "I would be thrilled to do whatever Mistress wanted me to do, ma'am."

"And I thought you were one of the nice ones," I told her.

She scooped a bit from her jar, ordered him to stay still, then spread it on his leg, he hissed, but otherwise didn't move. She waited a moment, not looking at me, then touched what she's put before quickly withdrawing her hand as she's been stung. She sucked at the hurt finger, then put the jar down and went to sit next to him, her hand stroking his cheek. His head slid only an inch, and in the next moment, he was placing a kiss on her hand, then before she withdrew it, he cranes his neck and took the finger between his lips, wrapping his luscious lips around and sucking. They looked ready to be devoured, or perhaps it was the nude body that was projecting that kind of invitation. And except turning his head, he hadn't moved a muscle, just as she's ordered.

It was jarringly sexual, but unlike her attitude, his didn't seem rehearsed of designed to put on a show. It seemed genuine, if a bit over the top. His eyes never left searching her face, presumably looking for any sign of discomfort. But her eyes were on me, a slightcrease marrying her beautiful face, and she smiled, looking all too pleased with herself.

I wasn't too pleased, though. I know what a hierarchy is. I know slaves go through much to please their owners, and are ready to endure a lot if that meant avoiding a punishment that was much worse later. I was under no illusion of that, I had grown up around it, and had been part of it. I was part of it now. I hit my own slave for little mistakes countless times, and I hadn't thought about it twice. I wasn't uncomfortable doing that. I only had a problem with sexual acts, because they were new to me. But I never hit him for no reason, or to prove a point, or for entertainment. Which was what this thing had turned into, entertainment. 

Arabella sighed as she saw my expression, "The instructions said that we wait fifteen to twenty minutes. How long has it been, boy?" 

"Thirteen minutes when you called me, Mistress."

"I am one of the nice ones," she told me, answering my accusation from earlier, "I'm so nice that's the most I could do is use hot wax on him that most middle class women get burnt with at least a few times in their lives. You, yourself, have been through laser sessions. And don't these hurt?"

"Sure," They hurt like a b´tch. "But-"

"That's it, then. These are the same kinds of pain. You go through it to have silkier skin and please the society around you. He goes through it to please me."

I couldn't fault that logic. And she wasn't waiting for me to. In her head, she'd won the argument, and she had gone back to promptly touching the wax that had, by now, cooled enough to harden. "I'm supposed to snatch it, all at once and quickly."

"As per the instructions," I mocked.

"As per the instruction," she repeated. Either not noticing my sarcasm, or choosing to ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know why I keep getting comments about how the ending of the story is very abrupt. The story is not finished. I'm not done yet. If anything, I have barely started. I'm just an extremely slow writer. So until I write again, farewell


End file.
